One Step too Far
by Morning Glory Conlon
Summary: Sometimes you love someone so much that you are willing to endure anything from them, even if that means letting them hurt you. The only thing holding you into the relationship is fear that if you do leave, you won’t make it. Rewrite of an old fic
1. The Dangers of Pickpockets

**One Step too Far**

**Dangers of Pickpockets**

By Morning Glory

This is a rewrite of an old fic. Originally published 1-12-02 when I first started writing fanfics. It was supposed to be part of a series called "Secrets Can Kill", but I never got around to finishing it, I don't think I really even started it. Warning there's a bit of fluff and probably mary-sue in there. Like I said it is an old fic rewritten from when I was going through a hard time.

One bruise from walking into a door, one black-eye from a scuffle, one bloody lip, scrape on the cheek, fractured wrist, broken fingers, hand marks around the neck, and numerous injuries that could not be seen, all accidents, all over six months.

Three a.m. the front doors to the lodging house were locked by now, leaving only one way in. The window on the second floor of the newsboys lodging house was always unlocked. Curfew was nine o'clock, but there was a ten minute allowance for tardiness, it takes a little longer when you have to walk everywhere to get around. It was not uncommon for a newsie to be spotted climbing the fire escape in the middle of the night.

Sketches quickly ascended the fire escape only looking down to the street once. She had waited until she knew every one would be asleep, it was later than normal because of the poker game that had taken place between Manhattan and Brooklyn earlier in the evening. Chances were that several of the Brooklyn newsies would be spending the night depending on how late the game had gone. Sketches pushed the window open slowly holding in her breath, as if that would help keep any noises from happening. The last thing she wanted to do was wake any one. Slipping in to the bunkroom she allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The moonlight filtered through the windows casting a pale glow across the wooden floor and bunks. Sketches little by little started to make her way over to her bunk, pausing only once when the old floorboard creaked under her weight. Drawing in a breath, once more, she held it until she was sure no one had woken up. A couple sleeping newsies shifted in their bunks mumbling in their sleep, but no one got up.

Thinking she was in the clear Sketches walked smack into the table from the poker game, a table that normally would not be there, causing a tin of marbles to go crashing down to the ground. They scattered across the floor in every direction, the patter of the marbles seemed to echo through the bunkroom. It was just like in every book she had never read, some one trying to sneak around without getting caught, but there is always that one item that falls over. Sketches cursed in Italian under her breath waiting for the effect to her cause.

Racetrack Higgins first newsie up the last newsie asleep sat up groggily in his bunk. He had been in a light sleep and heard the marbles scatter. Race leaned over the edge of his bunk lighting a candle. If there was some one in the bunkroom being able to see the person would be to his advantage. Race noticed Sketches standing frozen in the middle of the bunkroom, next to a tipped over can of marbles. Yawning and blinking the sleep out of his eyes Race slid out of his bunk, "Ain't it a little late to just be gettin' in Sketch?" Race began in the inquisition.

"Callin' the kettle black?" Sketches retorted. There were many a time when Racetrack came back well into the wee morning hours. Sketch kneeled down and began sweeping the marbles up under the glow of the candle light. She figured a morning surprise of tripping over marbles was not a great idea.

Lowering the candle as Race knelt down next to Sketches to help with the marbles. He placed the candle down between the two, and glanced up at his best girl friend, "You okay?" He scooped a couple marbles up quietly dropping them into the tin. Race could have sworn he saw a bruise on her cheek, but he could not tell for sure in the dark.

"I'm fine." Sketches answered softly, her concentration on the marbles, not looking up at Race.

Race cautiously reached over, but drew back slightly when Sketches flinched. He sighed reaching for her chin again directing her face towards the light, "Sketch what happened?" Race did not know if it was just the candlelight casting a darker shadow on her face, but it looked like she had a pretty bad black eye. He could see the pain in her light green eyes.

A quick lie spilled from her lips, as if she had thought of what to say if anyone asked, "I ran in to the Delancey's." Sketches pulled back out of the glow into the shadows. Race could just tell from the tone of her voice and body language that she was lying to him. Without saying anything more the two swept up all the marbles that were visible in the dim light. Race was not going to push Sketches into telling him anything more. She was a closed off person, not wanting to complain or be a bother. This annoyed Race sometimes, but he just let it be, some people had their secrets.

After the marbles were picked up for the most part, Race stood up taking the tin placing it in the middle of the table. He offered a hand up, "Hey, Sketch, if ya ever need to talk about anythin' I'll listen." He gave her a one armed hug before turning back to his bunk.

"Thanks." Sketches said quietly climbing into her bunk. Race watched his friend with worry. Waiting for her to get settled, he leaned over and blew out the candle.

The next morning Sketches was up early. Still exhausted from the night, she had only gotten a couple hours of sleep. Alone in the washroom, she stood before a mirror. Sketch gingerly touched her cheekbone, wincing. It was worse than she thought. In an attempt to hide the shiner, Sketches used some of Gem's stage make-up. The pale powder lightened the dark blue-purple area that marked under her eye. She sighed; it was not enough to hide it. Carefully with a wet cloth she carefully wiped the make-up off.

The faint footsteps of Kloppman could be heard walking up the stairs, the gradually grew louder, until his shouts echoed through the bunkroom, "Time ta carry the banner! Every body up!" Sketches knew that the newsies would be filing in any moment now. She touched her cheek once more with a frown, washing up for the start of the day.

A startled Kid Blink fell out of his bed and hit the floor hard, his head hitting the dresser, "Damn!" He rubbed the back of his head.

Gav's giggles could be heard in the washroom, followed by, "Are you okay?" She extended her hand down to the blond haired boy with the eye patch. The two seemed like the prefect couple. They spent a lot of time together, selling, hanging around the bunkroom, lunch, the two were in love.

"Yeah, I'm used to it by now." He said grabbing her hand for help up. He rubbed his head again, "Ow.." Blink whined.

Gav wrapped her arms around him, "Where does it hurt?" She asked with an impish grin on her face. Gav stood on her toes, kissing Blink's forehead and slowly moving down to his lips.

Spot Conlon, the fearless leader of Brooklyn, rolled out of his temporary bunk in Manhattan. The poker game had lasted well into the night, and Spot did not feel like walking all the way back to Brooklyn. Besides he had a good night at poker, he needed to rub it in a little the next morning, "Get a room why don' cha?" Spot knocked slightly into Blink as he pushed past to the washroom. He spotted Sketches making her way out; the dark mark under her eye attracted his attention. Spot caught her arm before she could slip by him, "What happened?" He examined the shiner; it was a pretty good one.

"Nothing just a fight with the Delancey's." The same rehearsed lie slipped out. However, Sketch had a harder time looking at Spot when she lied. There was something intimidating about him. Suddenly Sketch had taken a deep interest in the grain of the wood, as her eyes were fixed on it. She wanted to tell Race last night, and she wanted to tell Spot right now about Pickpocket and his bad temper. Trapped in her own fear of what Pickpocket might do if she told any one, Sketches kept silent. As much as she wanted to cry out for help, she could not find the voice to do it.

Instantly Spot knew it was not the truth, she had not looked him in the eye when she spoke. He was a bit hurt and annoyed that Sketches would lie to him. Spot cared for Sketches, it was one of the reasons he did not argue with holding the poker games in Manhattan. However, he knew that she had a boyfriend, and he was going to respect that, for now. Spot was not going to ruin any chances he might have with her in the future. Letting her arm go he leaned against the wall blocking her way out, "You've been getting' into a lotta fights lately. It ain't like ya." Spot accused her of lying, "What really happened?"

Sketches looked up at him quickly, seeing that he was concerned. She stepped around him; he did not make a move to stop her. Sketch just was not ready to tell anyone yet. She needed time to find herself and her voice.

Blink and Gav, who still had not made it to the washroom, saw their friend Sketches, "What happened to your eye?" Gav released Blink slipping out of his arms. She made her way to Sketches side.

"Nothing happened!" Sketches just wanted to be left alone, "I jus-" She was about to announce the same lines she had used on Race and Spot to the rest of the bunkroom so everyone would stop with the questions, but she was cut off when Pickpocket entered the room.

"Hey Sketches, you okay?" Pickpocket's tone was full of worry and concern, walking over he put a protective arm around her shoulders pulling her close. Sketch shied away, but Pick's arm had caught her shoulder first. She hoped that no one had seen that.

'_How could he pretend that everything is okay?' _Sketches thought to her self. She was too afraid to speak up about what had happened. Besides maybe he truly was concerned if she was okay. Pickpocket did say that he loved her, and she still loved him. It was an accident. A few newsies looked at Sketches still on her outburst from moments earlier, "Yeah, yeah…I'm fine."

"Come on Sketch we're gonna be late." Pickpocket smiled warmly, and led her out of the lodging house. She leaned into Pick's arm a little feeling that things just might be alright this time. As they left Spot shot Pickpocket a look that said he knew something was going on between the two. This grated on Pickpocket. Outside he removed his arm from around her, Pickpocket quickly seized her arm tightly pulling her quickly down the street. Once they were far enough from the lodging house, and away from where any of her friends would be by this time, Pickpocket's temper flared, "What didja tell them?" He barked releasing her arm with a small shove.

"I…I didn't say anything." She voice trembled along with the rest of her body. Sketches backed up, cornering her self against a building.

Pickpocket grabbed both of her shoulders tightly, towering over her, "You better not say anything!" He roared. Slamming her back into the wall, Sketches could feel her breath leave her, "You do and it'll be the last thing you say. You're my girl, you understand that?" Pick grabbed her face making sure she was looking at him, "I don't want to see you talking to that Spot Conlon kid from Brooklyn, you got me?" He had seen the kid around the lodging house a lot and perceived him as his only threat.

"Ye-yes." Sketches took in a deep breath finally. Pickpocket let her go now, and she slid to the ground. Sketches could feel the warm salty tears flow down her cheeks. She did not move from where she was, afraid that Pickpocket might hurt her.

With a laugh, shaking his head at her weak display Pickpocket turned to leave. Casting one last look over at her, "Find me when you ain't a mess." That said he walked away.

The lodging house was no emptying. Spot had a lot on his mind, mainly Sketches. He had seen her flinch when Pickpocket put an arm around her. Something was wrong; he just couldn't figure it out. Maybe he was just jumping to conclusions without the facts. Walking out onto the streets now, Spot shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He headed over to the distribution office. He could not shake Sketches from his mind no matter how hard he tried. Spot even tried to think about his good night at poker.

Spot watched as the two lovebirds Blink and Gav passed him. The two were joking around happily. Gav stopped suddenly, "Hey, do you hear that?" She inquired. Gav held a finger up to Blink's lips before he could say anything, "It's coming from over there."

Blink heard the faint crying as well, following his girl towards the sound. Blink slowed Gav by the shoulder, but in a protective way, just in case it was a set up or something. She pulled herself from him rushing over to her friend on the sidewalk. Gav knelt down next to Sketches, "Sketch." Gav went to wrap her arms around her, but she quickly stood up, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine…just another fight." Sketches saw Spot approach the group, "Just leave me alone."

Spot watched them and dashed over quickly, "What's going-?" He staggered back a bit watching Sketches rush off. Spot headed towards the distribution office he needed to get to selling, get his mind off of Sketches, though she had just made it harder to do.

Gav stood to follow her, but stopped. She turned to Blink, "Something's wrong Blink. Wouldn't Pickpocket have stopped someone if they tried to hurt her?" Gav was sad to see her friend hurting like that, closing every one off.

"C'mon we can talk to her tonight." Blink pulled his girl closer, rubbing her arm, "Let's get our papes, there ain't much more we can do right now." Gav nodded and the two headed for a long day of selling papers.


	2. Ripped and Crumpled Spirit

**One Step too Far  
Ripped and Crumpled Spirit**

By Morning Glory

Spot had reluctantly left Manhattan the same day that Blink and Gav had come across Sketches. He knew that something was wrong with the girl, but there was nothing he could do about it. As much as he hated to call Sketches a problem, she was not his problem, she was Jack's. He knew full well that he could not spend any more time in Manhattan; he had his own boys to look after in Brooklyn, Spot would be lucky if there was a lodging house still standing when he returned. Spot needed to stop worrying about a newsie who was not under his lead. He pushed the thoughts of Sketches to the back of his mind, knowing that the next time he would see her would be at the poker game at the end of the month, if things had not escaladed any further.

Things continued the same way for weeks, Sketches would return in the middle of the night, thinking no one would notice. Race was almost always awake to greet her, but it wore on him emotionally and physically. He could not take seeing her come in night after night with a new bruise, or upset. It was even harder on the nights that she did not return at all. Things became even worse when she began to withdraw from her friends, the people she called family. Race supposed it was because of all the questions that had been asked of her. Each time the simple rehearsed lie that she had told so many times rolled off her tongue, it was just another fight. These 'fights' that Sketches kept getting into with the Delancy's or a random guy seemed to be getting worse each time.

Gav had speculated that the injuries were from Pickpocket, though she did not have any proof of it, it was just a gut feeling. The day he came to the lodging house for Sketch, everything had seemed fine between the two of them, but there were the tears later on. Gav had told Blink about her theory and he agreed, but it was a half-hearted agreement. She knew that he did not completely believe her. Blink would make comments asking _'why would Sketch stay with some one like that? Or she'd tell us if something was wrong.'_ Gav did not know what to do. She knew that rumors were spread around the lodging house about Sketches, but then rumors were always spread about every one in the lodging house. Finally, not wanting to upset her friend, Gav just let her have her space and dropped any assumption that the injuries were coming from Pickpocket.

It was no different on this Wednesday morning at the Newsboys' Lodging House. It was easy to get lost in the quick paced morning routine. Every person struggled through a sea of bodies to get to the sinks and stalls. The sooner you got your papers, the better the chances were of getting a great selling spot.

However, Sketches hung back, waiting until there would be enough room to navigate her battered body through the rough newsboys. Sketch was unsure if she had gone unnoticed by others, or they just were not saying anything. She felt a bit relieved that no one was asking questions, but she it made her feel alone. Beginning to blame her self for everything that was going on with Pickpocket and now her friends, everything was starting to take its toll on her. Both physically and mentally Sketches was exhausted, it showed in her work. Selling having been only part-time to begin with, Sketches was down to only fifteen to twenty papers a day. Using her love of drawing to supplement her income, the drawings she used to do for people in the park, which were brilliant and vibrant, were dull and dreary. Evidence of the late nights spent sneaking around could be seen in her face, the green eyes that once sparkled with great enthusiasm for life appeared lifeless, almost as if she had given up completely.

Once a majority of people had cleared the washroom Sketches made her way over to a sink. Her arm was wrapped around her, crossing just below her ribs. She took in a slow deep breath, gritting her teeth as pain filled her chest. An argument had erupted between Sketches and Pickpocket the other night, and had ended in bruised ribs. The sad thing was that Sketch could not even remember what the fight had been about. As much as she tried to stay on Pickpocket's good side, it was becoming harder and harder to do. Somewhere inside she knew what he was doing was wrong. However, she was unsure of what was keeping her there, was it love that was keeping her from leaving, or what it the fear, of the threats that if she left he would hurt her.

"Are you okay?" A voice male voice, a blend of New York and Italian accents, came from behind.

Startled by the voice Sketch looked over. She had been standing in front of the mirror again staring, but not at herself. Staring through it, searching for an answer to her problem, "I'm fine." Her tone rehearsed.

"I'm not buyin' it any more." Race tried to calm himself as he spoke with her. He was angry at Sketches, angry because she was keeping something from him, "That's the same answer you've been giving me for weeks now; no one can be fine all the time!" His tone was harsh, but Race had enough of all the bull.

Shrinking back in fear at the angry words coming from her best friend, the tears lined the bottom of her eyes, "I..I have go to." Sketches stammered, before bolting from the washroom. The thoughts began to run through her head, did he know something? If he did and Pickpocket found out-- no she did not want to think of that. Gathering her graphite and sketch book with shaky hands, she headed out of the boarding house to start the long day that awaited her.

Race stood dumbfounded, he had not been expecting her to react like that. Maybe he had been a little insensitive, but he wanted to know what was going on with his friend. Grabbing his cigar from the tin cup next to his bed, he placed it between his lips, following the same route out as Sketch had taken. Race thought he would apologize later, but he was still angry with her.

Numbers sat at the large oak desk that resided in the lobby. He looked over the numbers that Kloppman had come up with in the ledger, "Where the hell did he get the four from?" His forehead crinkled in disbelief, talking to him self, "Ten and forty doesn't give you a four anywhere…" Numbers was pretty intelligent in the way of newsies. He had never formally attended school before. However, the small amount of time he had spent in school he excelled at his studies, growing bored with it, Numbers sought adventure. This did not go over well with his parents who threatened to disown him, landing himself behind the desk he sat at now.

Jack sauntered down the stairs approaching the desk, "See Sketches?"

Numbers was hunched over the books trying to make sense of what Kloppman had destroyed, "No, haven't seen her all day." He had been sitting in the same spot since the morning.

Jack watched Numbers and raised an eyebrow, "Have you even looked up from those, Numbers?"

"Hmm?" Numbers only lifted his head for a moment before returning to his work.

"Nothing," Jack exhaled noisily and shook his head. He walked over sitting on the stairs, one of his newsies was in trouble and no one had seen her around. Normally Jack would not get involved with lovers quarrels, but Race and Gav had come to him numerous times to try and talk to Sketches. Jack did not see what good he would do; he did not even know how to approach the topic.

The door to the lodging house clicked open and Sketches walked in. Her head lowered, not wanting to meet the gaze of the others. She was still quite upset over the events that took place in Central Park today. Sketches shifted her sketch book closing it tighter so she would not lose the contents.

Jack quickly stood up from his perch on the stairs walking over to her, "Hey Sketches, can we talk?" He asked hesitantly.

Looking up at she gave a small nod, not able to say no to him. Sketches was not in a position emotionally to argue with any one. Numbers looked up from the books when he heard Jack talk to Sketches; he had never seen any one so sad.

Jack nodded reaching over to place his hand on her shoulder, but she flinched, and he pulled his hand back, "Let's go talk over in the kitchen."

Once in the kitchen, where no other newsie would be found until food was ready, Jack leaned back against the counter, "Gav and Race are worried about ya kid." He stated straight out, "_They--_ and myself are worried yer gonna get hurt even worse, ya know getting into those fights and all." Jack played along with her stories.

"They don't have to worry, there's nothing wrong Jack." Sketches looked across the kitchen at him, "I just wish people would stop asking me if I am okay, because I am…I am fine…please just believe me, even if you don't."

Jack rubbed the back of his neck nodding again. He could not force her to talk to him or anyone else for that matter, "Okay Sketch, I believe ya." Jack frowned pushing off the counter. He knew this was not the talk Race had in mind for the two of them to have, but it was the best that he could do, "Sketches if anything is going on you know you have friends here ready to help you when you're ready."

"I know." She whispered clenching the book tighter.

"Do you really?" Jack inquired unsure if he actually believed her or not. All he got in response was a nod. He would have to accept that as her answer. Jack walked over placing a hand on her shoulder lightly, before pushing through the door back to the lobby.

Standing alone in the kitchen Sketches thought about his words. She had friends at the lodging house and they would be there when she was ready. Leaving the kitchen Sketches brushed past everyone in the lobby, heading up to the one place in the world where she could let her emotions free.

The warm salty tears streamed down her cheeks, her sobs echoed off the roof tops as Sketches hid from the rest of the world, or just the people in the lodging house. At the bottom of her feet laid a leather book, torn and crumpled pages rested sandwiched between the top and bottom, keeping the wind from whisking them away. It was more than apparent that the book had been destroyed by someone, other than the artist. Sketches wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her graphite covered sleeve, wincing as her hand grazed several bruises. She felt lower than ever as she sat high on the rooftop.

The day had started out on the edge with Race's outburst at her, and steadily declined from there. Maybe it had been that Sketches just did not have the enthusiasm needed to get through the day any more, but selling fifteen papers had felt like the most difficult task. There had been a time when she had been able to sell at least fifty in one day. After getting five papers sold Sketches had wondered into Central Park like normal. She had set herself up to do nickel sketches for people, but even that did not seem to be going her way.

Just needing a break from life, basking in the warm spring sun, Sketches decided that the bench by boat pound would Sketches had start mindlessly sketching, when she had stopped to really look at the drawing it had been of her friends, Race, Gav, Blink, Jack, and Spot, all people who had cared about her. People she had pushed an arm length away. Sketches wiped a few stray tears away as she sat looking at the portrait of her friends; she was interrupted when the sketch book was yanked out from her lap. Sketch gasped reaching for the book, but the person had been too quick.

"What's this?" The harsh voice belonging to a male spoke, it was Pickpocket. He leafed through the drawings of her friends, Race, Jack, Gav, Mischief, Blink, and Spot. There was that kid again, the one he had warned her to stay away from.

"They're just drawings." Sketches reached for the book, but Pickpocket held it away from her.

"I told you to stay away from him, and now you're drawing pictures?" Pickpocket had to be the most jealous guy in all of Manhattan. He had been completely oblivious to the other people in there. Suddenly there was a ripping of paper, as pieces floated to the ground like fall leaves.

Sketches' heart shattered to see all of her work was carelessly ripped from its leather bounds. Kneeling down on the ground she collected the pieces, tears splashing like raindrops, wetting the papers.

The tears flowed even more as she thought back on the day. She was lost with no way out now. Sketches felt a comforting arm wrap around her shoulders, her heart beat quickly. She looked up through her tears to see it was Race, "It's gonna be okay." He whispered wrapping a second arm around the sobbing girl. Race pulled her into a tight embrace. He knew it was more than the sketches that lay wrinkled at her feet, "Stay here tonight Sketches, stay for your friends if you can't for any other reason."

The two of them just sat there for what seemed to be hours as the sun slowly faded behind the horizon of the city. Race with his arms around Sketches letting her cry, not asking questions, it seemed like the best thing he could do to help her. Maybe Sketches would trust him enough to eventually tell him the secret that was slowly killing her inside and out.


End file.
